


Broken Apart, Together

by holdyourbreathfornow



Series: Family of Three [4]
Category: Half-Life VR but the AI is Self-Aware - Fandom
Genre: Descriptions of traumatic injuries, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Every fucking thing is getting tagged, Fear of Abandonment, Hyperventilating, I am taking no risks with this one, Multi, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Sick Character, Vomiting, emotional breakdowns, mentions of amputation, phantom pains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26445778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdyourbreathfornow/pseuds/holdyourbreathfornow
Summary: Gordon's nightmares usually aren't ones he remembers.  The only proof he even had one is a vague sense of unease when he wakes up.Tonight's nightmare, though?  It's gonna follow him around in the waking world for awhile.
Relationships: Benrey/Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman, Bubby & Gordon Freeman, Dr. Coomer & Gordon Freeman
Series: Family of Three [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918150
Comments: 30
Kudos: 319





	Broken Apart, Together

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags, I am not kidding. This one is pretty dark and I don't want anyone triggering themselves accidentally or unnecessarily. Stay safe, dudes.

Usually Gordon can’t remember his nightmares. Usually he’ll wake up and Benrey will be watching him with their weird cat eyes, worry barely showing through their neutral expression. Tommy will still be sleeping and Gordon will fall back asleep when Benrey pushes their way into his arms.

Tonight is not one of those nights.

Gordon stands in the halls of Black Mesa, the lights dim. The only sounds he can hear are the drip of blood from his arm and his own breathing, which is rapidly picking up speed. 

“Joshua.” A voice echoes around the room suddenly and Gordon cringes further into himself. All the reverb means he has a snowball’s chance in Hell of figuring out where the voice is coming from. “Joshua, why did you misbehave?” Even though the voice vibrates, Gordon can tell who it belongs to.

“Bubby.” He looks around, but doesn’t see his dad anywhere. “Bubby, where are you?”

“Hello, Joshua!” Coomer’s voice booms and Gordon yells, pressing one ear to his shoulder and covering the other with his only hand. “So you finally found us, hm?”

“Dr. Coomer… Dad, Dad, I don’t understand.” Gordon whimpers. Every word his dad says is so loud it hurts and tears gather in the corners of Gordon’s eyes. 

“Don’t you remember?” Bubby asks and there’s a long pause before he chuckles. “Oh, wait… You’re still on that whole amnesia kick, aren’t you?”

“Bubby-!” He doesn’t know what to say, where to turn, but suddenly something swipes Gordon’s feet out from under him and he falls onto his ass. He scrabbles along the floor desperately, trying to press his back against a wall. Instead, he bumps into a pair of legs and yelps. Craning his head back, Gordon meets the gazes of both Bubby and Coomer, who loom over him.

“Why did you leave, Joshua?” Dr. Coomer asks.

“Maybe it’s a good thing he left, if the first thing he did was forget us.”

“Indeed, Professor-!”

**“Doctor.”**

“If Joshua forgot us, it might be in our best interest to return the favor!” Gordon chokes and tries frantically to grab at the fabric of Bubby’s pants, but it slips through Gordon’s fingers like so much smoke.

“Please, no! I’m sorry, please come back, I’ll be good, please!” Gordon screams until it feels like he’s splintering apart and he wraps his arms around himself, his stump burning with pain where it digs into the metal of his HEV suit. “Please… Bubby… Dad… Please, I’m-“

Gordon startles awake, sweat plastering the sheets to his bare stomach. He lurches up and out of the bedroom and into the en suite toilet, vomiting into it. Quiet sobs rip from him as he presses his forehead to the cool porcelain. Eventually, he gets up and heads to the living room. 

-

Gordon’s up for hours before the sun even rises and as others wake up one by one, he stays curled up on one corner of the couch. Benrey questioningly comes over to him, one eyebrow lifted in a silent question.

_ ‘You want me to sit with you?’ _ Gordon shakes his head and Benrey nods in understanding, moving on into the kitchen where Coomer and Bubby are softly bickering over pancakes. 

Gordon’s arm still tingles, and he hasn’t bothered to put on his prosthetic. It would hurt too much. He hadn’t even bothered brushing his hair this morning. All in all, he’s sure he looks like shit. Good thing that matches up with how he feels.

“Gordon?” Dad… Dr. Coomer’s voice calls from the kitchen and Gordon glances up, his eyes meeting Dr. Coomer’s through his curtain of tangled hair. “Would you like to come help with breakfast?” Fuck, Gordon can translate that. Everyone else is working in the kitchen and Gordon’s being useless on the couch. He needs to help, even if his legs feel like they’re made of jelly just sitting down.

Gordon nods to Dr. Coomer’s question and stands, slowly making his way into the kitchen. He stands there, still being  _ fucking useless _ , before Dr. Coomer gently tugs him into one corner of the kitchen and sets a mixing bowl in front of him, a whisk set on the counter next to that. The bowl’s full of some kind of batter, and even looking at it makes Gordon sick to his stomach.

He leans forward until his stomach is braced against the counter, and Gordon pulls the bowl towards him until the cold ceramic is pressed against him. Once the bowl is situated, Gordon grabs the whisk and slowly starts stirring. 

Everyone else is working and chatting around him, but Gordon’s thoughts are buzzing in his head, messy and indistinguishable. It feels like every other second someone’s close enough for him to feel the heat off their skin, but he still feels cold, like he sat outside in a snowbank until someone came and dragged him inside.

His hand is shaking, and the phantom pain is bad enough to make him want to cry. But he can’t. He doesn’t want the others to laugh at him for crying into a bowl of pancake batter. He just… Doesn’t want to be awake right now. But if he goes back to sleep, he’s scared he’ll dream again.

Gordon’s so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the bowl sliding across the counter to a spot where it’s no longer braced against his pajama shirt. When he whisks just a little too hard, the bowl slips off the counter and slams onto the floor. It doesn’t break, the ceramic thick enough to withstand the impact, but cold batter splashes onto Gordon’s bare legs and the noise startles him bad enough all his muscles seize up and his stump  _ screams _ at him. He drops to the ground in a rough crouch, shoulders around his ears as his breath leaves him in a violent rush and he claws at his aching limb that isn’t there.

  
  
  


-

At first, when the bowl hits the ground, it takes a second to register in everybody else’s mind. When Gordon follows it to the ground a second later, Tommy physically picks Benrey up and hauls them out of the kitchen. He knows Gordon needs space and Bubby and Coomer are still in there. They can help Gordon.

Bubby goes to Gordon while Coomer picks the bowl up, making sure it didn’t break. If it did, they might have to check Gordon for wounds, and clean out the batter that got in them.

“Gordon?” Bubby’s hands hover over Gordon’s one hand. His nails are digging in fiercely, and he’s worried Gordon’s about to draw blood. “Gordon, are you hurt?”

“Sorry-” Gordon chokes out and his eyes aren’t on Bubby. They’re glazed over and he looks right through Bubby, which is terrifying on a whole different level. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to-”

“You didn’t break the bowl, Gordon, it’s alright.” Carefully, Bubby wraps his hands around Gordon’s wrist, prying his hand away before he actually hurts himself. “Does your arm hurt?”

“No, I’m fine, I can- I can help, I’m sorry-”

“If your arm hurts-”

“I’m not useless!” Gordon yells over Bubby and Bubby jolts back, blinking in shock. “Please, I’m- I can be useful, please don’t make me leave-” 

“Oh, my god.” Coomer mutters and deposits the bowl in the sink as gently as he can, before he falls to his knees next to Gordon, wrapping his son up in his arms. “Where did you get that idea in your head?”

“I’m sorry-” Gordon’s hyperventilating at this point, and Coomer rocks him. Gordon fists his hand in Coomer’s shirt, head ducking down until he can hide his face in Coomer’s shirt. Coomer locks eyes with Bubby over Gordon’s head as he keeps rocking him. “Please don’t make me leave, Dad, please…”

“We will never make you do anything you don’t want to do.” Coomer hums and Bubby sits in the puddle of pancake batter next to them.

“Unless it’s something like taking your pain meds.”

“Oh, Bubby’s right, we would make you do that.” Gordon snorts at that and his breathing starts to even out. 

“So what made you think we’d make you leave?” Bubby asks and Gordon turns his head slightly, until Bubby can see one of his green eyes peering at him through his mess of hair.

“Just… Just a bad dream.” Gordon hesitantly reaches out and grabs onto the sleeve of Bubby’s sweater, while keeping his face mostly hidden in Coomer’s shirt. Bubby gently tugs Gordon’s hand free from his sleeve before he laces his fingers through Gordon’s.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But your dad and I…” Bubby takes a deep breath, because he can feel himself being on the verge of choking up. “Gordon, we were a wreck when we lost you. I know it can be hard to believe sometimes, but there is always someone in the world who wants you around. And I know there are days when you don’t want anyone else around, and we’ll happily give you space if you need it, but it doesn’t matter if your space is across the room or across the fucking planet…” Bubby uses his free hand to smooth Gordon’s hair, and at some point tears had started dripping down his face. “...No matter how far you go, we still love you. You’re still our kid.”

“Thanks, Bubby.” Coomer smiles down at Gordon, but it turns slightly concerned when Gordon shivers and burrows a little further into his chest.

“Alright, Gordon, I think that’s the cue to get you cleaned up and in bed.” He looks up at Bubby. “You can go tell the other two he’s okay. I’m sure they’re half out of their minds with worry.”

“Alright. Yeah, I can do that.” Bubby squeezes Gordon’s hand one last time, reluctantly pulling away before he stands and leaves the kitchen.

“Are you sick, Gordon?” Coomer asks and Gordon shrugs, unsure of his own condition. “Alright, we can work with that. Do you want to go get in the shower while I hunt down a thermometer?”

“Can it wait?” Gordon clings to Coomer a little tighter and Coomer keeps him wrapped up in his arms. “Just a lil bit?”

“...Not very long.” He rests his chin on top of Gordon’s head. “I don’t know what pancake batter does for fevers, but I assume it’s nothing good.”

“Okay.” The two sit there in silence… Until Gordon sneezes. Then Coomer forces him to go get a shower.

-

Gordon ends up having to camp out on the couch, shaking his way through a fever with a thin blanket over him and someone sitting in the cushy armchair by his head the whole time.

His fever ends up breaking, finally, at four in the morning, and when he blinks awake, Coomer’s reading a small book by the light of a lamp with one hand. His other hand is intertwined with Gordon’s, his thumb idly tapping on Gordon’s wrist bone. Gordon doesn’t say anything, silently watching as his brain kicks back into gear and he fights off the last clinging threads of sleep.

“Hello, Gordon.” Coomer murmurs finally, and he sets his book down in his lap. 

“Hi, Dr.-” Gordon catches himself. “...Dad.” Coomer’s smile goes softer, which Gordon hadn’t thought was possible.

“Dr. Dad, hm? A title I’ll bear with pride, I think.”

“I might still be waking up a little.” Gordon chuckles sheepishly and Coomer nods.

“Perfectly understandable. I’m glad you’re feeling better, though.”

“Yeah.” The two sink back into silence.

“You’re very important to me.” Coomer says and locks eyes with Gordon. His gaze is piercing and Gordon feels like he’s being looked at by a whole crowd, instead of just his dad in the darkness of the living room. “Do you understand that, Gordon?”

“Yeah, I do.” He smiles and squeezes Coomer’s hand. “I may need a reminder occasionally.”

“I’ll put an alert on the calendar.” That sets Gordon chuckling, and eventually he drifts back to sleep, his dad’s hand in his a lifeline to the waking world, and a lifeline he trusts to not drift away, now or ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Feel free to sue me for emotional damages on my Tumblr: holdyourbreathfornow. I have no money but you can still come say hi or maybe ask why I like making characters suffer emotionally :)


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